Second Chance With The Ceo. Anna DePalo
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feeling of dread curled in her stomach. How many times had she started out thinking she could do this and then her courage had flagged? Three? Four?
Still, the students at Pershing School depended on her bringing Cole Serenghetti to heel—her job could hinge on it, as well.
Marisa lifted her hand from the steering wheel and squeezed it to stop a sudden tremor. Then she raised her field glasses.
Features obscured under his yellow hard hat, the man strode down the dirt path leading to the opening in the chain-link fence surrounding the construction site, which would soon be a four-story medical office complex. Clad in jeans, a plaid shirt and vest and work boots, he could have been just any other construction worker. But he had an air of command...and his physique showed potential for inclusion in a beefcake calendar.
Marisa’s heart pounded hard in her chest.
Cole Serenghetti. Former professional hockey player returned to the family fold as CEO of Serenghetti Construction, high school troublemaker and her disastrous teenage crush.
Could the package be worse?
Marisa slunk lower in the driver’s seat, letting the binoculars dangle against her chest from their cord. The last thing she needed was for a police officer to come around and ask why she was stalking a rich bad-boy real estate developer.
Blackmail? Pregnant with his child? Planning to steal his Range Rover, parked oh-so-tantalizingly close and unguarded at the curb of the office building under construction?
Would anyone believe that the truth was much more mundane? Everyone knew her as Miss Danieli, sweet-natured teacher at the Pershing School. Ironic if her new secret life as a millionaire stalker came at the cost of her job and reputation when all she was trying to do was help the high school-aged students at her college-preparatory school.
Tossing aside her field glasses, she popped out of her Ford Focus and darted down the street, her open coat flapping around her, as her quarry reached the sidewalk. There were no pedestrians on this side street at four in the afternoon, though it was nearing evening rush in the city of Springfield. She’d seen construction workers earlier, but there were none on the street now.
As she approached, the dank smells of the construction site hit her. It was dirty, and the air was heavy with particles that she could almost feel, even in the damp cold that clung to western Massachusetts in March.
She heard her stomach grumble. She’d been too nervous about this meeting to eat lunch.
“Cole Serenghetti?”
He turned his head while taking off his hard hat.
Marisa slowed her steps as she was jerked back in time by the sight of the dark, ruffled hair, the hazel eyes and the chiseled lips. A scar now bisected his left cheek, joining the small one on his chin that had been there in high school.
Marisa felt her heart squeeze. His newest scar looked as if it had hurt—bad.
But he was still the sexiest man she’d ever crossed.
She tried hard to hold on to her scattered thoughts even as she drank in the changes in him.
He was bigger and broader than he’d been at eighteen, and his face had more hard planes. But the charisma of being a former National Hockey League star—and sex symbol—turned millionaire developer was the biggest change of all. And while he sported the new scar, he showed no signs of the injury that had been serious enough to end his hockey career. He moved fine.
Even though Pershing was located on the outskirts of Welsdale, Massachusetts, the town that the Serenghettis called home, she hadn’t been anywhere near Cole since high school.
She didn’t miss the once-over he gave her, and then a slow smile lit his face.
Relief swept through her. She’d been dreading this reunion ever since high school, but he seemed willing to put the past behind them.
“Sweetness, even if I wasn’t Cole Serenghetti, I’d be saying yes to you.” The lazy smile stayed on his face but his gaze traveled downward again, lingering on the cleavage revealed by her long-sleeved dress, and then on her legs, shown off by her favorite wedge-heeled espadrilles.
Oh...crap.
Cole looked up and smiled into her eyes. “You’re a welcome ray of sunshine after a muddy construction site.”
He didn’t even recognize her. Crazy giddiness welled up inside. She’d never forgotten him in the past fifteen years, worrying over her betrayal—and his. And all that time, he’d been sleeping like a baby.
She knew she looked different. Her hair was loose for a change and highlighted, the ends shorter and curling around her shoulders. Her figure was fuller, and her face was no longer hidden behind owlish glasses. But still...she plummeted to Earth like a hang glider that had lost the wind.
She had to get this over with, much as she hated to end the party.
She took a steadying breath. “Marisa Danieli. How are you, Cole?”
The moment hung between them, stretching out.
Then Cole’s face closed, his smile dimming.
She curved her lips tentatively. “I’m hoping to hold you to that yes.”
“Think again.”
Ouch. Well, this was more like the script that had been playing in her head. She forced herself to keep up the polite professionalism without, she hoped, tipping into desperation. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough.” He assessed her. “And I’m guessing it’s no accident you’re here now—” he quirked a brow “—unless you’ve developed a weird compulsion to prowl construction sites?”
She’d always been bad at door-to-door solicitation jobs, and now, it seemed, was no exception. Breathe. Breathe. “The Pershing School needs your help. We’re reaching out to our most important alumni.”
“We?”
She nodded. “I teach tenth-grade English there.”
Cole twisted his lips. “They’re still putting their best foot forward.”
“Their only foot. I’m the head of fund-raising.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Congratulations and good luck.”
He stepped around her, and she turned with him.
“If you’ll just listen—”
“To your pitch?” He shot her a sideways look. “I’m not as big a sucker for the doe-eyed look as I was fifteen years ago.”
She filed away doe-eyed for later examination. “Pershing needs a new gym. I’m sure that as a professional hockey player, you can appreciate—”
“Former NHL player. Check the yearbook for athletics. You’ll come up with other names.”
“Yours was at the top of the list.” She picked her way over broken sidewalk, trying to keep up with his stride. Her espadrilles had seemed like a good choice for a school day. Now she wished she’d worn something else.
Cole stopped and swung toward her, causing her to nearly run into him. “Still at the top of your list?” He lifted his mouth in a sardonic smile. “I should be flattered.”
Marisa felt the heat sting her cheeks. He made it sound as if she was throwing herself at him all over again—and he was rejecting her.
She had an abysmal record with men—wasn’t her recent broken engagement further proof?—and her streak had started with Cole in high school. Humiliation burned like fire.
A long time ago she and Cole would have had their heads bent together over a book. She could have shifted in her seat and brushed his leg. In fact, she had brushed his leg, more than once, and he’d touched his lips to hers...
She